


The Little Death

by DarkDreamsOfHannigram



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Asphyxiation, Blood, Breathplay, Crucifixiation ?, Dubious Consent, Inspired by Art, Knifeplay, M/M, Oral Sex, Post-Episode: s02e13 Mizumono
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-13
Updated: 2014-07-13
Packaged: 2018-02-08 17:37:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1950111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkDreamsOfHannigram/pseuds/DarkDreamsOfHannigram
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will's reckoning, at last. Not sure what led up to this moment, nor what would follow. Turnabout is fair play.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Little Death

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the work "[Knife Party](http://honeyblood-eyes.tumblr.com/post/107824349271/knife-party-2015-i-did-the-original-of-this)" by [honeyblood-eyes](http://honeyblood-eyes.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr, artist Dori Hartley.

He didn’t want to kill him through suffocation; in fact, if he was being honest, Will wasn’t sure he wanted to kill him at all.

So tying his arms over his head was a tricky proposition. He wanted Hannibal immobilized, but he still needed to be able to put enough weight on his feet so he could exhale as well as inhale. He’d been able to keep him in a state of semi-consciousness, so he knew to balance on the balls of his feet; but his heels couldn’t make contact with the floor. He was getting enough oxygen, but only just. If he tried to talk too much, his lungs would burn with the effort.

“I need you awake, Hannibal,” Will said as he lightly slapped his face.

His eyes opened and seemed usually clear and cognizant for a man who had so recently returned to full awareness.

“Will…”

“You probably shouldn’t talk. You need to focus on not wasting the little air you’re getting.”

He brought up the knife he was holding – one just exactly like the kind that Hannibal had used to gut him that night,  curved and cruel, like his lips – and showed it to him. His pupils, which had been blown wide from what passed for him as fear, narrowed when he saw it.

Will had a decision to make.

All the times he’d fantasized about killing him, always with his hands. Sometimes it was with a scalpel to the throat, to let his blood rain down upon him; sometimes squeezing his neck and watching the light fade from his eyes; all the ways one could kill a person with few outside accoutrements. And every time, Will was aroused at the thought of it. The act itself was almost pale in comparison to his imaginings of it; the recesses of his mind were often more real than reality to him.

He wanted Hannibal to feel what he did, though, so see through his eyes. He wanted him to know how good it felt, thinking of killing him, over and over again, forever.

Ironically, this was the one thing keeping him from actually killing Hannibal; he feared that if he were to complete the circuit, it would burn out his brain. He was addicted to the thought, not the act; and if he performed it, that reality would subsume his fantasies, simplify them into nothingness.

Will drew in close to Hannibal’s shaking body. He placed his lips near his and said: “I said once that I wouldn’t kill you. I still think that I won’t. But I’m not as certain as I once was. Let’s see what happens, shall we?”

Hannibal opened his mouth to talk, but found instead only a deep moan escaping his lips. The contact between their bodies – Will’s clothed, Hannibal’s naked – had shocked him into a greater level of awareness. Reflexively, he tried to push forward against Will’s hip, but found that the more he tried to move, the more difficult it was to breathe.

He could only stare into Will’s eyes, which on the surface were sure and fierce, but beneath were indecisive. Hannibal saw Will was truly at a crossroads as to what he would do. He found it exquisite; he never could predict him, and never wanted to.

Will felt Hannibal’s cock hardening against his body, and it was then that he chose a path.

The knife he continued to hold against his skin, not hard enough to pierce, but firmly enough to discourage any movement. One side of the neck he pressed the object; the other side he pressed his teeth.

He felt Hannibal shift beneath him, who quickly realized that to recoil from his touch in any way would bring pain, and possibly draw blood.

Lips and teeth always remaining in contact with his body on the left side, and knife still pressing into his flesh on the right, Will moved down to Hannibal’s collarbone, devouring, leaving a livid bruise; suck marks where the bone was so close to the surface of the skin were so much more willing canvasses than the fleshier parts.

The knife mirrored perfectly Will’s movements. Down to bite a nipple, down to graze the blade; each of Hannibal’s straining ribs were taken in their turn. Here he was the most vulnerable to piercing; it would be so easy to slip in between them and puncture a lung. It made Hannibal’s cock twitch each time the knife pressed into an intercostal muscle.

Will was in a crouch now, at Hannibal’s abdomen. This would, of course, be the most meaningful place to thrust it into his body, so here he stopped, and knelt before him; his cock was surging in anticipation, of anything.

A few words, breathy and strangled, were all he could manage: “Whatever you want, is what I want you to do.” His head fell back from the effort of speaking.

Knife pressed hard into Hannibal’s side, so close to where he had gutted. Blood trickled from it, a flesh wound that likely wouldn’t scar, though Will wished it would. It would only be the ghost of a reminder.

He decided he would make this last. The act of hanging from the arms, even allowing for a small amount of weight to be placed on the feet, was still agonizing. If Hannibal passed out, he may die. They both knew this.

Slow, hot contact from the flat of Will’s tongue to the shaft of Hannibal’s length, produced from him an agonized moan; it was getting hard to make coherent noise.

He teased him like that for some time. Precum leaked. Will tasted it, and made sure there was more to flow. Occasional strokes of the tongue to the head of his cock in between the other skillful treatment. Hannibal’s legs began to shake with need to thrust into Will’s mouth; this was impossible. Another fluid, more blood, in a steady trickle began to prick its way down his right leg, lascivious in its own right.

Will grasped his left, in a steadying gesture, as much for Hannibal as for himself. He concentrated now more on Hannibal’s leaking slit. This was almost worse, as the head was swollen and oversensitive. He’d torment him by taking it into his mouth fully, sucking hard, only to stop and tongue at it lightly once more. Hannibal could only think of the hot mouth he wanted to plunge into, deeply, but could not. The pain in his lungs grew, and his vision blackened at the edges. To faint would be to die; Will would not cut him down if he failed this trial.

When his thigh had trembled uncontrolled for two minutes straight – Will counted the seconds in his mind – only then did he take him all the way down his throat. No warning, just one moment sucking at the head has he had been doing, then slowly all the way. Will forced him in and let himself gag and felt the fire in his own lungs. He wanted to share as much of this experience as he could with his live prey. So letting go of Hannibal’s leg, he began to stroke himself, at first through his jeans, and then unbuttoning them. He’d been aroused the entire time.

He came up for air, at last; after all Hannibal could breathe a little. But he matched his throat-fucking with the speed of his own hand gliding along his own now slickened hardness. Deep in his mouth, faster and harder his hand. For Hannibal this was worst of all, this loss of control; in times past, he freely wound his fingers through Will’s hair, as tight as he pleased, and kept him there, thrusting into the back of his open mouth. He wanted retreat into those memories. But if he did, he would lose consciousness, and besides – this would be a new memory, one he could sear into his brain perhaps even blacker than all the others.

Will knew well what he was thinking of; how could he not? This time, so like all those past when he’d been on his knees for this, was so unlike them too. As he felt Hannibal’s cock begin to pulse in his throat, he felt his own climax building, a spring in his belly soon to uncoil.

A simple cry as he came was all it took to finally force the remaining air from him, and Hannibal swooned. All the world narrowed to the unceasing surge after surge into Will’s mouth, hot and tight around him. Feet lost their little purchase on the ground; he had minutes before brain death.

The moment stretched; Will felt his release spill hot over his hand; he swallowed endlessly, his own breathing stopped just as Hannibal’s was. If he blacked out, Hannibal would die. An interesting manner of death, to be sure; but there was no victory in letting him slip away, not with so much more retribution to be meted out. He fought the urge to crumple, and pulled away, standing as quickly as his dizzied head would allow, and cut through Hannibal’s bonds.

He wasn’t breathing. Boneless, Will caught him, permitting him to fall, guided, to the ground.

Blood flowed once more to his brain aided by gravity. The release of his arms let his lungs expand and contract, he took several involuntary deep breaths, and his eyes opened.

The return of consciousness was met with a kiss; he tasted himself on Will’s lips, and for a moment – whether due to oxygen-starved hallucination, or something else – he knew himself through Will’s eyes, as Will perceived through the eyes of monsters. He felt the beauty and power of Will’s many thoughts of his death.

“See,” Will sighed. “See.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Dori Hartley for first creating this amazing piece of art that inspired me, and second for allowing me to connect it with my writing. You should follow on [Tumblr](http://honeyblood-eyes.tumblr.com/) and like on [Facebook](https://www.facebook.com/pages/The-Art-of-Dori-Hartley/115859727868?ref=hl)! 
> 
>  


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